The aching heart of the other swelled almost to bursting. The faculty of unburdening herself by friendly confidences had never been hers. Something within her stood like a grim sentinel forbidding all outlet, and though she yearned for sympathy, could not seek it nor meet it with loosened tongue when it came. The instinct of repression had been fostered by a loveless, lonely childhood and lifelong habit. Not a word could she utter now, but the eyes, with their pitiful, wordless appeal, their unbearable burden, turned to the Butterfly, and in one never-to-be-forgotten glance laid bare their owner’s broken heart. Then with a moan she fell forward, and the long repressed agony burst forth in sobs.
The Butterfly’s arms clasped her closely, her tears fell over her, and the words she spoke were wiser than a butterfly ever uttered before. The greatest mind could not have devised a better method of cure for the sick soul than the sympathetic instincts of this airy creature suggested. From that hour between those two no fence or wall, or barrier of any kind existed. They knew each other as we shall all be known when the armors and masks our hypocritical social usages have forced upon us shall be laid aside with our clay garments.
“Dear Mrs. Doring,” said Mrs. Layton, presently, “it is not necessary to tell me what troubles you. I know it through sympathy. You are greatly distressed for lack of money. You cannot pay your board, and you and your husband are strangers here. I dare say you never imagined it, but my husband and I are almost without a cent in the world, too. We owe this house an immense bill for board, and I am afraid it will never be paid, for every day the situation grows gloomier. It half kills me to go to the table, when I know that we are not paying for the very food we eat, and I suspect you suffer the same way for the same reason. Our outlook is as bad as yours, only we are not strangers here and you are. Yet being known has its disadvantages as well as its advantages. It is hard to be humiliated in the eyes of one’s friends. So far our difficulties are not generally known, but things too bad to think of are ahead of us, I fear. You see I pretend to be sunny and happy. I sing and dance and affect to be merry all the time—for that is the best way, though I assure you my heart often weighs a ton.”
“I am astonished,” said Cartice. “I thought you a butterfly out and out, with no troubles at all.”
“Naturally, I believe I am. I love the beauties and pleasures of life; but nobody knows what butterflies are thinking about while they are fluttering around looking so care-free and joyous. I do the butterfly act now with a fell purpose—two fell purposes in fact. I keep others from suspecting that things are going wrong, and I keep myself from dwelling on my troubles. You must learn butterfly philosophy too. You must go out and meet people and make friends, let yourself out a little and show what is in you.”
“I can’t, dear, for many reasons,” and Cartice glanced at her well-worn gown, and thought of the hopeless condition of her wardrobe.
“Clothes, eh?” said the other, going straight to the point. “Don’t worry on that score, I am handy with a needle and can help you tinker up some of your things to look quite fine. I can toss up a delicious little bonnet, too.”
“But I have no heart in anything,” said Cartice. “You don’t know all—no; you don’t know all.”
“I know more than you think I do. I know precisely what it is to be pitifully disappointed in one’s husband, to find that he is the opposite of what one thought him, to lose confidence in his ability, his manliness, his loyalty and his love.”
“Yes, yes, that is the hardest of all,” wailed Cartice, shaken to the soul to learn that what she believed hidden was written in big letters on the outer walls of her life, as it were.